


Family Don't End With Blood

by Bad_girls_ride_with_Dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, F/M, Hunters & Hunting, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_girls_ride_with_Dean/pseuds/Bad_girls_ride_with_Dean
Summary: Fellow hunter Nora Reilly has been missing for five years, only to be discovered living another life in a small mountain community. Sam's prior relationship with Nora complicates the case, and both brothers quickly realize that all is not it appears to be in this small, seemingly, idyllic town.





	1. I Don't Go to Sleep to Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fellow Hunter Nora Reilly had been missing for 5 years when she was spotted living in a small mountain community in the Appalachians, with seemingly no memory of her previous life. Sam's prior relationship with her complicates the hunt. .

Chapter 1

"Five years, boys. It's been five years since anyone has seen so much as hide or hair of her, and I tell you, I saw her in some backwater town not three days ago. She didn't recognize me—even when I introduced myself. Y'all remember how good of an actress she always was—but not THAT good."

Jonas Zane swigged his beer in silence. Dean glanced at his younger brother Sam to gauge his reaction. It had been common knowledge that Nora and Sam had reached an, uh, "understanding" when they'd both been left behind on a hunt. Sam nursing an injury—Nora nursing him. But he'd been just as shocked as everyone else when they'd all walked in on the two of them in bed together. After the big fight with her brother, Nora had disappeared into the wilderness, with only a backpack full of provisions.

At the look of misery on Sam's face, Dean winced. Sam had never spoken of that day, but whatever Nora's parting words had been, it had caused Sam many sleepless nights. And now this. Nora spotted in the Appalachian Mountains, living another life, seemingly no memory of who she had been. Jonas broke the silence: "If we're gonna get Nora back, we need to know what we are up against. Is this retrograde amnesia or some bad mojo keepin' her from rememberin'?"

"Maybe she just doesn't want to come back." Sam's misery was obvious in his tone and face, and Jonas, never comfortable with overt emotions, walked over to where Sam was slumped, putting one weathered hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Well, let's just round up some of the gang and go find out. Family don't end with blood and we take care of our own."

That last statement propelled Sam into action. His movements were almost frantic when Dean finally caught up with Sam in their temporary room. Dean leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed across his chest. Sam jerked to a stop. "What?!"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondered what you meant by that comment back there." A shadow passed over Sam's face, but Dean wouldn't back down from his line of questioning. "What happened? What did she say to you before she left?"

"Nothing…everything." Sam fumbled for the small medicine bundle he wore under his shirt. The one Nora had given to him. He up-ended a small piece of metal into his palm and laid it on the table, revealing the Brotherhood ring. It was too small to be Sam's. Then Dean's heart dropped at a sudden revelation. It was Nora's. She had left the Brotherhood.

"She left the ring with you Sam. She didn't throw it in her brother's face—she gave it to you. For safekeeping. And I know that's not the only thing of hers you've held onto all this time." Sam's eyes darkened, and his fingers curled slightly. "Don't get all defensive, bro. Whether it's just amnesia or binding spell, we're gonna need all the ammo we can get our hands on." Sam relaxed. "Besides, we have a little time while Jonas rounds up the posse—we'll need to rest up before hitting the road. And develop the best strategy." Sam just nodded—afraid to speak.

In the dark, both brothers stared up at the ceiling in their respective beds. Dean planning out his "strategies" (and alternately worrying about Sam). Sam remembering Nora's healing touch as it deepened into an intimacy they'd both denied themselves for way too long. And the memory of falling asleep with Nora in his arms, only to be awakened by Nora's horrified brother, along with Dean's recent words, all swirled together in his head.  
______________________  
"Nora!" Will's booming voice jerked them both awake. Sam was painfully aware of three things: He and Nora were both naked, Will was glaring at them like he wanted to kill them both, and the rest of the gang was hanging back, humor and shock warring for dominance on their faces. Sam glanced over at Nora, barely recognizing her now-hardened features. Her cold tone was that of a stranger: "Before you start flying off the handle, Will, at least allow us both a chance to get dressed."

The others had the common sense to leave, dragging Will with them. But outside the door, he could be heard muttering darkly. The temperature on his side of the door was noticeably colder, but Nora's features softened when she saw Sam was having trouble getting his arm into the sleeve of his flannel shirt. She guided his arm through, gently caressing down the length of his arm as she did so.

Will glared at Sam as they passed each other in the doorway. Sam hated leaving Nora alone to her brother's wrath, but he realized this was her battle to wage—he just hoped the damage would not be permanent. As soon as the door clicked shut, the words between the two siblings grew heated.

"Sam? SAM?! Of all the stupid, irresponsible…"

"What's wrong with Sam? He's smart—funny. We like the same music. We both love musty old book stores. He's a hunter, like us, so he knows the job like we do. And he's one of your oldest friends. You have no right to tell me who I can and can't have sex with. And you calling me irresponsible—that's laughable!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Sam would have never risked my life the way you have on these jobs. It seems every time you are in charge of these things, I end up as the stripper or the prostitute! I am the who is grinding in some vampire lord's lap—no crosses, no holy water—not so much as a wooden stake to defend myself—PRAYING y'all will get there and do your job!"

"You never complained before!"

"Of course not! I was always the good little soldier, able and willing to blindly follow your orders! But get this through your thick, Neanderthal skull. You. Don't. Own. Me. Sam is the first good thing to happen to me since, well, let me think—EVER! And by the way, the sex was fantastic!"

"I don't wanna hear this!"

"Well you're gonna hear it, Sunshine! I've been wearing those big girl pants for quite some time now!" One of the guys snickered softly at that, but was silenced by Nora swinging the door open. She squared her shoulders and pushed past her brother, storming into her room—slamming the door behind her. Sam followed, and watched with growing incredulity as she packed her army surplus backpack—mostly with books and weapons. She came to a jerking halt when she saw him there, and sat down heavily on the bed, patting the empty space beside her. Nora sat staring off into space for a few moments, and Sam allowed her that silence.

She began to twist the Brotherhood ring around and around on her finger, letting the sunlight gleam off its surface at each pass. A sigh passed her lips. Her blue eyes which usually gleamed with mischief now glistened with tears she fought hard not to shed. Sam touched her cheek, and she allowed herself to lean into his touch. Nora pulled him close, kissing him full on the mouth. At the same time, he felt her press something into his hand. When she pulled away, he looked down, and saw her ring now in his hand. His blue-green eyes widened. "Sam. I do love you. I just need to get away for a while. Away from the Brotherhood. Away from hunting. And yes, even away from y-you."

Nora's voice faltered at that last statement, and Sam took her in his arms, the tears finally spilling out of his own eyes. "I will come back to you, Sam. That I promise you…"  
______________________  
The memory began to fade, and he found himself in a clearing surrounded by giant cedar and pine. He felt a tugging on his pant leg. Looking down, he saw a little boy who bore a striking resemblance to himself at age 5 years—except he had Nora's bright blue eyes. Hunkering down, he laid a hand on one of the boy's tiny shoulders.

"Help her. Help them. " The boy's eyes changed from bright blue to an emerald green, then back again. The forest around them began to take on a nightmarish quality, and the boy looked around fearfully. "I have to go before he finds me. He'll do bad things to us." Before Sam could ask him what he meant, the dream split apart, and he felt a psychic blast pushing him away from this uncanny child.


	2. Donal Og...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't like Sam's choice in allies.

Chapter 2

"Sam! Wake up!" Dean's voice pulled him out of the nightmare. Sam's eyes opened, his entire body drenched in sweat. At first he stared incoherently at Dean. It was still dark, the full moon shining into his room, bathing them both in an eerie blue light. Sam reached frantically for Dean, stumbling against him like a drunken man. His head was pounding. He muttered only two words before collapsing back onto the mattress: "Bad mojo."  
______________________  
Dean was worried about Sam who'd been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd gotten up that morning. After his nightmare, Sam had a few snatches of sleep—finally giving up and began reading up on a subject he had refused to discuss. Dean had finally elected to sleep in the sitting area of the cabin—getting up to check on Sam at least three times. It wasn't until after the third time, when he found Sam slumped over his reading, snoring softly, that Dean was able to drift off completely.

"I don't like it, Sam. Telling the others to stay out of it? Seems like we might need their help. Especially with your top-secret research into who-knows-what. It has something to do with Nora, and since we are on the same team, it would help if you clued me in. What was the dream, anyway? You could barely walk, and the last thing you said before going on your research binge was "bad mojo." More voodoo? Bring it on, man. We've seen worse."

Dean's playful jab was meant to lighten the mood and hopefully get Sam to talk. But when Sam finally turned towards him, Dean was shocked by how old his brother suddenly looked—it was like looking into their father's face. But just as suddenly, he was just regular Sam again, and Dean's lead foot caused the brakes to squeal.

"What the hell just happened?!"

"Sorry about that Dean. I had to test a theory—I just wish I hadn't been right." Sam held up the book he'd been so furtively studying the night before. Across the drab grey cover, in dark block letters, were the words Dream Symbols.

"The vision I had wasn't like any other vision. It was…personal. That kid sought me out through the dreamscape. Not many magical practitioners have that level of mastery. Ceremonial Magicians and Shamans are the most advanced Dreamwalkers. Besides the kid, there were trees—cedar and pine. Cedar is more closely associated with Native Americans, but pine is most closely associated with the Druids. The pine was the strongest…I can still smell it."

Dean sensed Sam's reluctance to continue. "Well? What does the book say?"

"While the oak tree has long been considered sacred to the Druids, it was the pine that was in ancient times considered the holiest of trees. The book doesn't say much about that, but the other research points to the introduction of Christianity to the British Isles might have had something to do with that. The Celts worshipped a mother goddess—the chief of these, Danu. The pine and elder trees were called "mother trees" or "goddess trees," and it was forbidden under the pains of death to cut down either tree. But the church attempted to eradicate all forms of goddess worship, and eventually, even the wise Druids abandoned the pine and elder in favor of the oak."

Dean, not sure where this lecture was going, snorted impatiently. "So, we dealin' with Druids? In the Appalachians? Sam, that makes NO sense."

"I know it doesn't—but what's even stranger is that these are pre-Christian Druids we're talking about. Any information before the Christian era is sporadic at best—the Church did a real outstanding job in that department. And anything following the Christian era is highly biased and grossly inaccurate. All I know is, all this is centered around that kid…and Nora. They're both in danger—a powerful binding from a very old magic."

"Don't say it, Sam. You know how I feel about—"

"I know how you feel, Dean. But a spell this powerful is going to need an even more powerful spell—and we need help. I've been keeping an eye on the Neo-Pagan community online. There's one coven that is mentioned, mostly in furtive whispers, in our area. They don't have any kind of e-list, no online forum, no public classes, not so much as a newsletter—but everyone seems to know about them. Whoever they are, they have a reputation in that community—it's solid, but they are difficult to find."

It was then Dean noticed the large U.S. map laid out on the floor behind Sam, and the almost invisible pendulum lying beside it. "Scrying hasn't helped me find Nora—and I have tried. But maybe, it will help me find this coven." Dean had no answer to that, and he only watched grimly as Sam measured out a circle on the floor. With the pendulum in one hand, Sam began to chant: Donal Og. Donal Og. Donal Og. Sam's hand did not move, but the pendulum swung wildly, then yanked downward, pointing to a spot on the map. Sam stopped chanting, and stared at the spot. Dean moved forward carefully. The energy in the room was weird—seeming to warp reality around them both. And then, everything went back to normal. Just like in the car.


	3. Witches' Council... Memories Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam attend a witches' war council, and a vision quest forces Dean and a Witch to work together toward a common goal.

Chapter 3

The old woman, sightless, made her way along the winding path, tapping her knobby cane against the rocky terrain. A single crow followed her progress with its dark, intelligent eyes—turning its head one way, then the other. Tap, tap, tap. Only a matter of time now. Every bump, every twig, and every bit of moist earth was seeping through her soft shoes, speaking to her.

"Grandmother." She didn't even turn at the sound of the voice—there was no need. She simply gestured with a wrinkled hand. A young woman with long straight hair, brown eyes, and a bronzed complexion moved smoothly to the old woman's side. "What do you see, Grandmother?"

The old woman said nothing for a moment. But the wind suddenly picked up, and the young woman could clearly see storm clouds gathering in the distant northern horizon. There was much fury in those clouds.

"I was wrong, child. And now, that seemingly insignificant error in judgment is about to crash down on all of us like an avalanche. Hunters are coming—but do not judge them too quickly. One is motivated by desperation—and love. The other—he will be more difficult, but his devotion to the other will bring him here, nonetheless."

Though she knew the old woman was right, the younger woman's eyes still blazed with fury. "We don't need hunters." And though the ancient eyes were sightless, they settled on the young woman. "You are right child, we don't need hunters. We need these hunters. Crow has told me what we are up against. And it's not good." She took her cane and began to draw out a pattern in the dirt. As the picture took shape, the young woman cursed and spat at the ground in disgust. "I thought he'd be dead by now!"

"Now you see why this is so important. I cannot explain it now, but the fate of these hunters, and our coven, are all connected to his fate. And the love of a woman whose form is clouded from my inner sight by nefarious means. And because my inner vision is not clear, that means he has increased in power somehow. Call the others. There will be a council of war…"  
______________________  
Somewhere in the Appalachian mountains…

In the car, Sam directed Dean near the spot on the map. The roads were becoming more difficult to maneuver—even Dean had to admit that "Baby" might not be able to handle much more. Dean was relieved to hear Sam's terse. "Pull over," until he realized they still had to walk another 2 ½ miles—mostly uphill.

"Are you freakin' kidding me?! We can't carry all of our weapons up there—not that far anyway. Did your vision give you any clue as to how we were supposed to manage that?!"

"We can manage." Both brothers turned to see a wild looking woman standing only a few feet away. She hadn't been there a moment before, and neither of them had heard her approach. The woman smiled at them, but the smile did not reach her eyes. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly figures appeared where it should have been impossible. Walking out of tree trunks and boulders, appearing out of thin air, even coming out of the ground—they very quickly surrounded the two men, and their car.

"We know your purpose here, hunters. And while I do not like it, she has agreed to a meeting. Where is your offering?" Sam brought out the bundle of dried white sage, wrapped carefully with twine. Though the woman's features softened slightly, and was much shorter than Dean and Sam, there was something in her demeanor that warned them both not to make any sudden moves. It took all their willpower to not move when she, with a simple gesture, popped open the trunk of the car, and then the others stepped forward and grabbed what weapons they could carry.

One by one, they followed the woman, Sam and Dean strategically placed in the middle of the line. It was an unseasonably cool day, the breeze easing the difficulty of the terrain. Sam and Dean saw out of the corners of their eyes a variety of apparitions, both solid and ethereal, following them. Spirit wolves and bears, accompanied by ancestral spirits. Above them flew a single crow, cawing, as if announcing their presence. Dean was like a coiled snake, ready to strike if necessary, but even with his and Sam's knowledge of things that go bump in the night; this was beyond his scope of understanding. Why were they still alive? And who was this mystery woman who had agreed to meet them? No doubt the leader of this coven—and what a coven! Not like other covens they'd gone up against, that was for sure.

Finally, they came to what seemed like a small, but well-established community. Cabins nestled among the trees, a sweat lodge, and in the center, a communal campfire with a large cast-iron pot swinging gently over it. There were symbols painted on several of the largest tree trunks, and stones were placed in strategic patterns on the ground. "Old Magic," Sam muttered to Dean. Dean had no response to that, as the familiar feeling of reality warping around them took hold again. Not good.

They walked past the community, further into the woods until they came to a large clearing. Surrounded by tall grass and wild flowers, was a wide dirt path leading to an even larger circular dirt patch. A small fire had been set up in the center, and on the other side of the flames was a woman as ancient as the mountains which surrounded them. The wild woman stepped forward.

"Grandmother, we have brought the hunters."

"Where is the offering?"

Sam stepped forward, cradling the sage almost like a baby. He kneeled before the old woman, head bowed, offering it in his outstretched palms. She smiled and took it from him. "Ah, someone who knows. Come, join our council." There was an uneasy stirring among the others, but no other hesitation, as they all began to move forward—Dean separated from Sam by several people. Sam was placed immediately to the old woman's right, while the wild woman took the place immediately to her left.

The old woman stood, the sage in her outstretched hand, and she began to walk toward the fire. She turned it so the flames barely licked at the dried tips. Then, holding it high, she began to speak. "Great Mother, thou who are made of mud and stars—hear me. Bless this holy council. Though we go to war, may our hearts be filled with your love, our minds blessed with your wisdom, and our souls filled with your righteousness. Grant us all the strength to carry us through the battle to come."

Around the circle, the wind picked up momentum, and a murmuring arose in the forest beyond. Specters of people and animals appeared from the darkness, swirling around and walking through the circle, between the members. Dean cringed as a ghost-wolf brushed past him, followed by a beautiful woman with flaming red hair and bright green eyes. She was so close; he could see the hint of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

The wild woman rose, and picked up where the old woman left off. "Our ancestors and animal helpers—from the homeland that once was, the homeland that is, and the homeland yet to be. Two tribes…one race. Tonight, we gather together—hunters and witches—against one common enemy. Oath-breaker, soul stealer…my brother, the Traitor."

A howl rose from the throats of the witches—the magic in the air so palpable even Sam and Dean were caught up in their wave of rage. But then the old woman stood once more, and a powerful silence stilled even the spirits. She turned to the younger woman.

"Andraste. Coordinate your efforts with these hunters. I know what I ask of you is difficult—but necessary. Remember. The enemy of my enemy is my friend." The old woman's voice rose once more. "We thank our ancestors and spirit helpers for their presence and support. In the name of the Mother, this war council is adjourned. So mote it be!" With that last remark, she threw the bundle of sage into the flames, which then sparked upwards, reminding both Dean and Sam of fireworks on the fourth of July. One by one, the members left the circle, and the spirits retreated back into the shadows.

The wild woman they now knew as Andraste gestured roughly to the brothers to follow her. Dean, still on edge, attempted to lighten the mood. "Andraste, huh? How did you get that name?" Dean suddenly found the business end of a straight bladed double-edged sword directly at his throat. He could feel the faintest trickle of blood running down his Adam's apple. "I earned it." A tense moment passed before she offered a predatory grin, then she continued the path once more. Dean rubbed the nick at his throat, and barely caught up with Sam, who gave him a brief, imploring look before he turned his concentration back to the path ahead.

 

Though Andraste didn't trust them, she proved to be a meticulous, albeit mischievous, instructor. It had started with the herbology lesson in the middle of the night. The moon was just beginning to wax—only a faint sliver appeared in the sky. While she agilely stepped around plants, roots, and rocks, San and Dean, despite their years as hunters, stumbled "like drunken elk." Dean glared at her in the darkness. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A little. You think this is hard—wait until the purification."

"I hate to ask…"

"Oh, I don't want to spoil the surprise." A slight sound stopped their banter short, and they both turned in time to see Sam's tense form storming off into the darkness. Dean moved to follow him, but Andraste stopped him. "You are his brother, and you love him. But something tells me this requires a more...delicate touch." Before he could argue the point, she had already disappeared.

She found Sam just moments later, staring up at the Milky Way. Unbidden, her second sight touched on his memories of Nora—laying under the stars, Sam pointed out the vast expanse of stardust, explaining Native American beliefs. Her playful reply…"I read too, Sam." Their easy banter, the way they touched each other so gently, even before they realized their feelings for each other. The love flowed so openly and easily between them. Andraste cut off the connection, for Sam's sake more than her own. Andraste laid one hand on his arm. "She isn't dead, Sam. We will find her. That Spirit Road connects your souls. No matter what my brother has done to bind her—that is one bond that cannot be broken."

In the shadows, Dean watched Sam's shoulders sag at the witch's touch. There was a hint of a phosphorescent green wisp at her fingertips. She looked up directly at the spot Dean was hiding, and her eyes glowed with that same green—and she smiled.

"We should head back. Your brother is worried about you."

"He is always worried."

"Appreciate that, Sam. You have no idea how fortunate you are to have a brother who cares as much as Dean does." Dean was surprised to hear the resignation in her voice. The squaring of her shoulders and the straightening of her spine—were that of a general determined to see the battle through to the bitter end—even if it meant her own gruesome, bloody death. How often had he felt that in his own lifetime? And how many times had he covered that pain with a snarky side remark and a stiff drink? What did she do to cover her pain? He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and silently made his way back to the cabin.

He was surprised to find the old woman and Andraste waiting for him at the cabin. Sam was nowhere in sight. The old woman answered his unspoken question. "Sam is in the sweat lodge. I have spoken to my granddaughter of your mutual distrust, which I understand. But, if we are to truly work together against a common enemy, then we must trust each other a little more." She turned to Andraste, but still addressed them both. "You are both to enter the Underworld—the realm our Mother. You must each face your defining moments, together. Nothing can be held back. You can spend your whole lives running, but what's done in the dark will be brought to the light."

Dean sensed only the slightest hesitation on Andraste's part—a momentary flash of fear—but then the shade was pulled down and he couldn't read her at all. She laid her right hand over her heart, bowing her head slightly in submission, and only said, "Yes, Grandmother." The old woman then pulled an animal skin bag out of…somewhere…Dean couldn't quite see. An intricate Celtic knot was threaded into one side. Andraste chuckled as she took the bag. The old woman smiled and left them alone.

Out of the bag came a wide flat drum and beater, followed by two bundles of dried white sage, a bic lighter, and an unlabeled bottle of amber liquid. "Soma—with minute amounts of mugwort and wormwood. It will give us spirit-vision. Not to mention blurred vision—hah!" Dean knew the situation was as uncomfortable for her as it was for him, but if she was willing to do this for the sake of a stranger, he was willing to do the same for family.

"We must smudge each other as well as this entire room. The space needs to be cleansed, and ourselves purified." She looked him in the eye—not an easy thing to do as he had several inches in his favor. "This vision quest will reveal things about ourselves that each would not want the other to know. Are you willing to expose your greatest weakness to someone you consider your enemy, hunter?"

"Are you—witch?"

A pause…eyes gazing into each other…and then a laugh—a genuine laugh—passed her lips. "Alright then…let's begin." They each lit their sage and she instructed Dean on proper smudging techniques. "Corners, doorways, vents & windows—these places can draw in a lot of psychic garbage. Especially corners. Focus on the smoke pushing out all the negative energy." Between the two of them, the room was done in just minutes. Back in the center of the room—the energy really did feel different. Dean would have called it electric. "What now?"

"Now, we raise the circle, share the soma, and then I drum us into the Realm of Our Mother. Sit there—" she said, pointing to a spot on the floor just in front of her. She lifted her drum and began to chant. Dean couldn't understand the words, but he recognized it as a form of plain song—not unlike the style of the Benedictine Monks. But she blended with that animal sounds: crows, owls, coyotes, wolves—even the hiss of a snake. Just as with the earlier ritual, animal spirits came into the cabin through every seam, crack and vent—adding their energy—creating a protective bubble around them.

Andraste then lowered the drum to the floor next to her feet, and uncorked the bottle of soma—drinking a liberal amount before handing it to Dean. It was much smoother than any whiskey he was used to. There was an almost silky texture to it as it danced over his tongue, and it warmed him immediately. He could suddenly see colors in the spectrum he didn't know existed. He felt weightless. Whoa. This was better than sex.


	4. Chapter 4: Bitter Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the command of the old woman leading the coven, Dean and the Witch enter into a vision quest together. We are first introduced to the chief Antagonist.

The colors began to coalesce and Dean found himself in a run-down cabin. In front of him were three familiar figures. Himself, several years ago, Sam-looking so much like a little kid, and…the hairs stood on the back of his neck…his father. It was the moment, frozen in time. He barely felt Andraste's presence next to him. Slowly the scene came alive and he was forced once again to hear Azazel's lies through his father's voice.

"Sam is clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, he shows him much more concern than he's ever shown you."

"Dad, don't you let it kill me!" Dean winced at his younger self's pain…though he'd been through what most would have considered worse since this, he knew how wrong they were. And Bobby…good old Bobby…Dean barely felt the tears rolling down his cheeks…lifted the colt and sent the demon back to Hell where it belonged. Andraste took Dean's hand into hers, squeezing lightly, and he squeezed back.

The scene melted away and now they stood in a place surrounded by rocks and trees, near what, for all intents and purposes, Dean could only describe as a hole in the ground. The figure of a woman, covered in sweat and dirt suddenly emerged from that hole. She looked up at the sun. Her eyes, a bright blue, did not squint, but instead, reflected the light. To Dean, it was as if the entire cosmos was reflected in those eyes, and he could go all the way back to the Big Bang, if he wanted to. Her lips were curved into a Mona Lisa smile…he almost didn't recognize her.

She stood against the large boulder nearby, humming and swaying—staring into the hole as if waiting for someone. A moment later, a tall man emerged. Dean tensed, for he could see a dark aura swirling around him. There was something sinister about him that reminded Dean of the demons he had fought over the years. He unconsciously stepped forward, but was stopped by Andraste's arm.

"These are mere shadows. Memories. We can't affect what has already come to pass. I—WE—have to see it through." Dean felt a wave of nausea hit him as he looked at the man again. He could literally see the depth of his evil. And the young woman was entirely oblivious to it all—wrapped up in whatever visions were swirling through her head.

Faster than Dean could follow, she suddenly snapped to attention, and barely missed the big man's psychic assault. It was a battle between two equally powerful witches—waves of pure energy blasted back and forth. And where hers was like light emanating from a prism, his was more like purple-black smoke. As his attack pounded against hers, her colors swirled and changed to blood-red—swirling and whipping against his attack again and again. It reminded Dean of a prairie fire he had seen just a few years ago. The light show would have been beautiful if it weren't so deadly serious.

Then it happened. Two equally powerful psychic blasts hit, and pushed them both back to the ground—rendering them both unconscious. Dean heard a muttering beside him. "Wake up, you fool. Kill him while you still can." He could feel her rage, but his attention was on the woman who now lay on the hard ground. A flapping of wings caused him to jerk his head up. A crow landed on a low branch on a nearby pine, and stared at the two figures on the ground.

The first to wake up was the man—Dean was pleased to see he looked like he'd just had a date with a prize fighter's fists. The man gave a predatory grin when he saw the woman, still unconscious. But another fluttering, this time louder, caught his attention…and Dean's. Now, thousands of crows were perched on every available tree overlooking the scene. A weak groan caused a rustling among them. The man glared over at the figure of the younger Andraste, where there was finally some movement. Her eyes popped open—the pupils dilated. Some of the more brazen crows landed near her, cawing loudly. This seemed to bring her vision into focus. Slowly, carefully, she rose—just as badly bruised and beaten as the man—but seeming to have just gotten her second wind.

But then, the man, who suddenly seemed to have grown a brain, for the fear was showing clearly on his face, staggered back. He stopped for a moment, some of the old swagger back. "We're not finished." Not so smart after all. But at least he finally left. The younger Andraste wavered, as if on a teeter-totter, then collapsed to the ground.

Dean felt a shift in the energy as it warped around them both, and he was once more sitting on the floor of the cabin, facing Andraste—who stared blankly into space, tears rolling down her cheeks. He wanted to comfort her, but thought better of it. She didn't seem like someone who sought sympathy—not from her own coven, and most definitely not from strangers. Like him, she covered her pain, and if that wasn't possible, deal with it in private.

Her gaze eventually came back into focus, and she became aware of her own tears. Dean fumbled through his pockets until he pulled out an old bandana, handing it to her without a word. She wiped her face, and responded with just two words: "Thank you."


End file.
